


hands

by vamptramp



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (possibly), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Harry, Dream Sex, Dubious Consent, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, One Shot, Porn, Shameless Smut, Snake-Like Voldemort (Harry Potter), Submission, Top Voldemort (Harry Potter), Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:55:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29838435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vamptramp/pseuds/vamptramp
Summary: on the rare occasion when nights are quiet and still and sleep comes easily, Harry Potter dreams of pleasure and cold, pale hands.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Voldemort
Comments: 6
Kudos: 78





	hands

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first public fic for the Harry Potter fandom after years of being a part of it, and of _course_ it’s a Harry/Voldemort smut fic, lmao.
> 
> I’m justifying the improbability of all this with “AU, horcrux/soul related hijinks.” please don’t take it too terribly seriously. 
> 
> takes place during book seven and features serpentine Voldemort, not Tom Riddle.

Harry was having the dream again. The familiar slide of black silk sheets beneath his bare body and the seemingly endless bed upon which he was sprawled were not unfamiliar territory to neither his flesh nor his mind. The almost uncanny and inexplicable realism he experienced while in the dream made it unlike any he’d had before; he could swear he was truly in this dark, mysterious, and expansive room, feeling the cool air tease goosebumps up along his arms and raising the hair on the back of his neck.

But the dream wasn’t just Harry reclining in the buff upon some huge, unfamiliar - and impossibly comfortable - bed. There was more to come, and the anticipation had him sitting up against the pillows, his heart quickening a touch in his chest and his nethers growing warm. He could remember the last dream vividly, and he wondered when _they_ would find him.

The hands. Those slender, cold, and hungry hands that had silently explored the expanse of his body and brought him to completion the last time he’d found himself in this dream-bed. He’d become acquainted with them several times now, and several times they had given him an experience unlike any he’d had before, waking or not. The mere memory had one of his own hands wandering absently over the planes of his flushing chest in an attempt to mimic that touch. It wasn’t the same.

As if he had somehow summoned them, Harry very nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt one the hands alight upon his shoulders. There was a weight beside him now on the bed - a weight he hadn’t felt settle there. He knew this weight. It belonged to the owner of the hands: a figure whose features he’d never been able to discern in these dreams; a figure whose hooded face was so blurred and shrouded in disorienting dream-shadow that he couldn’t make out even the slightest of details. But that had never bothered him before. It was the figure’s touch that he craved.

“ _Ah…it seems you missed me,”_ came a sudden, low whisper into his ear. Harry’s surprise at hearing this was overtaken by the feeling of one of those hands slipping from his shoulders and ghosting down the length of an arm he was using to prop himself up. The voice, indistinctive and foreign and yet familiar in a way he couldn’t quite place, was new. The figure was always silent during the dream. “ _Am I correct in that assumption?”_ Came the voice again.

Harry had to swallow a small whimper before answering, for cold fingertips were brushing, almost curiously, over one of his stiff, dark nipples. “Y-yeah,” He eventually managed, a little awkwardly. “I, um… I like these dreams.” 

There was a chuckle like the stirring of dry leaves in the wind. “ _Dreams… “_ The voice crooned. “ _Yes, I suppose this is a dream to you.”_

Harry didn’t have time to ponder the strangeness of that statement. He found himself being pulled back against the stranger’s chest with a hand splayed over his own, and no sooner did their bodies make contact did one those hands thrust itself between his lean muscle-toned thighs, palming his thickening length and ghosting fingertips over his sac. The boy’s pleased gasp hitched on a low moan, and the stranger’s other hand took the opportunity his parted lips offered. Cold fingers slipped into Harry’s mouth and Harry, taking the hint, closed his lips around them.

Perhaps it was his imagination, but tonight it seemed as though there was more urgency to the stranger’s touch. Or perhaps it was hunger? Harry could hear the low rasp of the stranger’s breathing above him, and it sounded not unlike his own as he huffed around the digits against his tongue - quick and heavy with lust. 

It didn’t take long for Harry to grow to full, aching stiffness in those fingers. “ _You needed this, didn’t you?”_ The stranger sighed against Harry’s ear in response to this, and his breath was hot and dry against his skin as it stirred his tousled locks of dark hair. “ _You’ve been such a busy boy, and yet have had no relief... what a shame._ _”_

Harry made a quiet noise of agreement around the fingers, which were now thoroughly soaked. Seemingly satisfied with the wetting of his digits, the stranger slid them from Harry’s lips, pressed closer against his back, and brought the hand down to join the other between the boy’s thighs.

Harry drew in a tremulous breath and his cock jumped when those wet fingertips pressed lightly to the tight ring of muscle concealed between his toned buttocks. His surprise drew a soft noise of mirth from the figure, whose chin, Harry had come to notice, was resting on his shoulder. To his disappointment, the wavering, blurring dream-shadow concealing his face had not faded. His attention, however, was quickly drawn from this fact and guided to the activity happening between his legs; one slender hand languidly working his prick from hair-curled root to glistening tip, and the other pressing experimentally to his furrowed rim. He was clenched tight, as was his instinct – but this earned him a soft, disapproving noise from the mysterious stranger.

“ _You must relax, Harry,”_ encouraged that low whisper. “ _For how else will you manage to take me within you?”_

This revelation drew a filthy _moan_ from Harry’s lips – or maybe it was a response to the fingertip that had just wriggled past his clenching muscle and was now probing into the tight heat of his depths. The feeling of the figure’s own cock, now pressing hard and hot through his robes, against the small of Harry’s back made it clear that the intent was serious. That threshold of intimacy had not been crossed in the previous dreams, but something was different tonight. Not that Harry, awash in pleasure and trembling with each touch and stroke, minded at all. 

Another finger soon joined the first in the task of opening Harry’s reluctantly loosening body. The raven-haired boy curled his toes in the fine silk of the bedsheets and rutted his hips with a hoarse whimper, driving himself into the stranger’s now-clenched fist and simultaneously down onto those questing digits. An appreciative huff from his dream-conjured visitor encouraged him, and with one hand coming to rest on the slender one around his length, he braced the other against the bed and began to rock. His hole was stretching more with the movement, flexing around those curling fingers with each twitch of his prick; and when one particularly well-angled buck of his pelvis had them jabbing against something wonderfully, electrically sensitive deep within him, he yelped and very nearly came. It was only the tightening of that grip around the base of his cock that stopped him.

“ _Not yet.”_ The voice was heavier, more guttural. “ _No, my wanton boy… you come when I allow you to come.”_

Harry’s responding whimper was positively whorish. 

A low laugh, and, much to Harry’s disappointment, the stranger withdrew his hands, leaving the young man’s hole achingly empty and fluttering and his cock twitching indignantly. “Hey - ” he began in protest, but was abruptly cut off as he was rolled unceremoniously onto his stomach, face buried in the pillows and glasses knocked wildly askew. A long-fingered hand was splayed firmly between his shoulder blades to keep his upper body pinned to the mattress, and an arm snaked around his waist, hiking his lower half up onto his knees. Harry’s breath hitched in anticipation. Dream or no, he was at his most vulnerable, spread wide and bare for this stranger.

The arms eventually withdrew, followed by the distinct whispering rustle of robes being undone. A hand came to rest on Harry’s hip and he felt the almost affectionate brush of the stranger’s thumb over the rise of his hip-bone. “Like what you see?” He turned his head on the plush pillow to boldly tease, and this earned him a stinging swat to his rump. He twitched and gasped in surprise.

“ _Such a cocky boy, Potter._ ” The stranger’s voice carried the faintest touch of venom, and Harry felt an icy shiver go down his spine. Perhaps it was his imagination, but accompanying the shiver was a delicate twinge beneath his tousled bangs - a twinge from his jagged scar. He decided it was nothing, however, when he felt the stranger’s weight settle heavy upon the curve of his back, and he shuddered at the press of a stiff prick against his - thankfully prepared - rim. Harry had felt the length of it through the robes, but he was large, larger than Harry: his sex long, thick, and curved. His own throbbed eagerly where it hung heavy and weeping between his thighs. 

“Please,” Harry found himself pleading. The stranger pressed his hips forward a touch in response, but not enough to breach. Harry swore breathlessly, continuing, “C’mon, please…”

More pressure. He was _so_ close to getting what he wanted. 

_“‘Please’ what?”_ The stranger chuckled cruelly. His breath stirred the hair on the back of Harry’s head. “ _Use your words, Harry.”_

Harry grunted and writhed, attempting to push himself back onto his mysterious partner’s length instead; he found himself thwarted, however, by those hands steeling themselves upon his hips.

_“Beg.”_

The wicked _hunger_ in those words had Harry shuddering again. Drawing in an unsteady breath and fisting his hands in the pillows, he said in a voice heady with lust, “Please, I… ” 

He paused, swallowing thickly. This was both incredibly arousing and terribly humiliating - but at least it was only a dream. His heart was pounding in his throat and his face burned as though set aflame when he finally panted, “I need you… _please,_ fuck me!”

Harry was rewarded for this - immensely. The stranger drove himself to the hilt within Harry in one fell stroke with a near-feral snarl. As the boy muffled his strangled yell into the pillows, the stranger snapped his hips once, twice, and then hissed in a voice only a few timbres from a growl, “ _You sound so pretty when you beg, Harry. I’d love to hear more.”_

Harry raised his head to splutter something in response, but was driven face-first back into the pillows with a sharp thrust. The burn of his abruptly stretched channel was fading with each drag of that cock, giving way to fiery pleasure incomparable to anything he’d ever felt before. He almost couldn’t believe this was a dream. It seemed so _real._

The stranger had begun to move above Harry, his thrusts short, arrhythmic, and searching: searching for the place he knew would make Harry scream. His nails dug, almost clawlike, into the flesh of Harry’s bare back and into his hip. It should’ve hurt, but it didn’t; if anything, it only heightened Harry’s pleasure. His gasps were ragged, his moans hoarse. His fogged, lopsided glasses had slid down his sweat-slick nose (it was a wonder they were still on at all). His shining jet-black hair was plastered to his head. And his swaying cock leaked steadily onto the bedspread below, his balls drawing up closer to his body. He was already unbearably close. 

It was then that the stranger angled his hips just right and drove his cock into that spot - that wonderfully electric button - and a gasping, swearing Harry would’ve come if it weren’t for one of those hands releasing his hip to curl tight around his cock. “ _Honestly, Potter,”_ the stranger mockingly crooned in his ear, “ _I would’ve thought you more resilient than this.”_

He rocked into that same place again, and again, and Harry’s moans bordered on frustrated whimpers as he was given no relief. The stranger, however, was relishing in the way his body clenched and quivered around his length; Harry could hear it in the way he moaned, in the way he sighed “ _yes”_ and “ _good boy”_ under his breath. The praise made Harry positively _ache_ in a way he didn’t quite understand _._

It seemed, eventually, that his dream-visitor was drawing close to his own climax - if his quickening thrusts and tightening grip were anything to go by. Harry hoped so. He was so pent up he was almost in pain, and the stranger’s long fingers were now slick with a regular flow of his pre-come as a result.

That wasn’t the case quite yet. The stranger pulled out with a gasp and shudder from the boy beneath him. Harry, sweaty and quivering from head to toe, turned his head to look over his shoulder to see why his mysterious partner had stopped; but he got his answer when he was hastily rolled onto his back. Glasses sliding back up the bridge of his nose, arms splayed, and trembling legs falling open, Harry struggled to gather his bearings - his vision was spinning and hazy. He’d just barely managed to do so when hands seized his hips and he was impaled once again.

“Fffuck,” Harry whined as the stranger settled back into his crushing pace. He wrapped his legs around his pistoning waist and squeezed with his thighs, and the throaty moan he received in response made him shiver. 

There was a rustling of dark robes and the stranger suddenly leaned over Harry like a shadow, hands moving from his waist to brace upon the pillow on either side of his tousled head, his hooded, obscured face lowered until it was beside his own. “ _Do you wish to come, Harry?”_ He purred with a roll of his hips. “ _I feel how close you are. All you must do is ask…”_

But Harry knew what that really meant. And this time, the prospect wasn’t nearly as humiliating. 

“Please, let me come,” The dark-haired boy obediently pleaded. His hands came up to clutch, desperate, at the man’s shoulders. “ _Please,_ I need it so bad… !” 

The stranger chuckled softly. “ _Good boy,”_ he praised. “ _Here’s your reward.”_ And his hand returned to Harry’s stiff, aching prick. He worked it hard in time with his thrusts, and Harry’s head fell back… he was almost there… 

One last deep thrust into his prostate, and he was _finally_ coming. His back arched off the bed and his hips jerked, hoarse cries falling from his flushed lips as he painted his stomach with streaks of hot white. He wasn’t even aware that the stranger had found his release within him in tandem, hot and copious…

… But he was certainly aware when, suddenly, there was a mouth pressed firmly to his own. A mouth with lips so thin they were practically nonexistent; a mouth with curved, serpentine teeth; a mouth with a forked tongue. 

Harry, still riding the aftershocks, jolted in half-processed horror, eyes flying open. Wide, brilliant green met fiery, inhuman red. Pain erupted behind his scar, but he couldn’t raise a hand to it; he couldn’t _move._ He was too slow, too sluggish.

 _“I look forward to seeing you again, Harry Potter.”_ Lord Voldemort smiled against Harry’s lips.

The last thing Harry saw before the dream faded to black was the mirth burning like fire in those wicked eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I do hope you enjoyed this self-indulgent little fic. I may or may not have plans to continue this story if it’s received decently, so let me know if that’s something you’d like to see!


End file.
